The Secrets of a Beating Heart
by namone
Summary: Draco's heart is as Slythern as Draco himself it doesn't play by the rules and acts like it's a stone. Unfortunately for Draco, it's not. Stones don't bleed. HD, oneshot.


THE SECRETS OF A BEATING HEART

In the corner of his eye, Draco was always watching. This was no particular secret. Because as a true Slytherin and Malfoy, Draco had learned early on that knowledge is power. But of the bottom of his heart he was always caring. That's not something you learn in the house of Slytherin or in the Malfoy Manor. No, there you just learn to feel as little as possible and to show nothing about how you feel. Emotions are for weak people. For Gryffindors who do not know their own best. Yes, if you want to survive in the real world, in any world, you must act ice-cold. And the best way to do that is simply to be ice-cold. It's pure strategy.

But as we all know, heart does not play by strategies of any kind and it doesn't listen to your head either.

First, second, third and fourth year at Hogwarts had gone by. Not entirely painlessly but at least his father hadn't been completely unhappy with him. Not all the time at least. His father was not very happy with the fact that he had managed to make best enemies with Harry Potter the very first day in school. A Malfoy rejects, he does not gets rejected. But at least he hadn't bled to death when the hippogriff had wildly attacked him but maybe, come to think of it, that would've been for the best. Maybe stopping your heart from beating was the best way to, well, stop your heart from beating.

But he had still been alive and he had still been a boy and he had still not been aware of what consequences a beating heart could and would have. He'd had no idea. He'd just kept trying being better than Potter and his bunch. Tried to beat him in Quidditch, he had tried everything to make his own life seem a little better in comparison. He had tried and failed. Like a bloody Hufflepuff!

In fifth year he'd known that Voldemort was back. In the Slytherin common room the war that was about to happen was a fact. Sometimes Draco secretly wished that he could have lived without knowing what was about to happen. Sometimes he wished his parents wanted to protect him from the world and from all evil. Secretly.

Secretly he envied a certain black haired boy with no class whatsoever. Secretly he envied him for not having a father to be put behind bars. Secretly and only sometimes.

In sixth year it was no longer Draco chasing Potter around the place. Partly because he didn't have time to be childish. He didn't have time to stay up all night, planning how to make Potter's life as miserable as possible. He had been given a mission that he had to complete. But it was also partly because he was tired. Tired because after all those night of plotting for his own gain, he still wasn't winning. But all of the sudden he had Potter clumsily running after him. It was then he realised that was what he had wanted all along. So he locked himself into the Room of Requirement and forgot all about it. Secretly, because he had nothing to forget about anyway, right?

After that year everything changed. Again. The world outside of Hogwarts was cruel, he had always known that. Voldemort was cruel - what else was new? And he was scared. More scared than he'd ever been. But this time it wasn't of losing. Not the war at least. He hadn't really ever cared much about politics and was quite convinced that Voldemort was ready for the mental hospital. But because of his father he had been dragged into the whole thing. He was expected to be a Death Eater. Whether he wanted or not. It didn't matter how much his mother objected either. In the Malfoy family, Lucius was the one with the power. When it was over, Draco knew that Lucius was a man with power but no strength. His willpower was never stronger than Voldemort's and his courage was nonexistent.

That was why Draco had to run away - they were officially on the dark side. When Draco had been young and foolish it was almost something that he'd wanted. Because it was dangerous and it was exciting. But that was before, never now.

There was no knowing with Voldemort and you really were living on the edge all the time. And you were scared all the time and you could not look over your shoulder enough times. They were sort of living in a bubble. In the dark bubble. Because there was no turning back to the illusion of the good side. They would kill you. And the Dark Lord wasn't too happy with him either.

Draco hadn't seen Potter since last day at school until that day when Potter had been captured and taken to the Manor. Even though his face had been badly swollen, Draco had recognized Potter right away. What kind of nemesis would he have been otherwise? He could easily have said that yes, that's Harry Potter, but he hadn't. Secretly he knew that Harry Potter was his only hope. A hope of what, he didn't know. But his heart began to beat faster as he became determined to survive if only to rebel at all against his father and Voldemort.

But he hadn't been planning on surviving because Potter saved his life. But he had.

The war had gone by and he was alive. So were his mother and father and Potter. Voldemort was dead, of course. Malfoy was no longer a name of wealth and good reputation. He was determined to start a new life, determined not to let his name get in the way of his life. But that wasn't really up to him, now was it?

But he got through Auror training by shutting everyone who looked at him like he was planning to become the next Dark Lord of. There was a few of those. Potter was among them, of course. This time Draco wasn't going to do the same mistake again and letting him get to him. Not because Potter said much out loud to him, it was more the looks and the slightly furrowed brow than made Draco want to punch his stupid and alive head into the nearest wall, floor or ceiling. But he never did.

At least not until they were out of training.

Draco's always ongoing competition with Potter was working both for and against him. It made him want to manage to do something so badly that he tried harder than ever before. Sometimes he tried too hard and therefore failed even harder.

Love is not something that Draco considers himself ever having. Not the kind of love that makes you throw yourself head before heels into someone's arms, only hoping that the person in question will be strong enough to catch you. Draco could never do that, could never trust someone like that. Why would anybody want to be weak enough to be caught anyway? Why anyone would be that stupid was beyond him.

Draco had loved his parents. He had always wanted to make his father proud. Draco had loved his Slytherin friends back at Hogwarts. It was a give and take-relationship. Mostly take for his part but still he had never depended on them. But had he trusted them? Could he had trusted anyone in times of war? Could anyone trust anyone in times like that? Draco couldn't imagine that. But his thoughts automatically went to Potter. (When didn't they?)

Potter trusts everybody. Well, not Draco. And he hadn't trusted Snape. But he trusted his friends no matter what it seemed like. Draco secretly wondered how it would be to have someone having so much faith in you. Draco wondered, secretly in the lonely hours in his bed, if he would ever find someone who would love to trust him.

Draco was still the same person as he had been at Hogwarts before the war. There was no denial in that he was sarcastic and didn't deny a chance to smirk. That was still there. He still loathed Potter. In the very same way as he had back then. He just hadn't known it. Or at least he hadn't wanted to acknowledge it.

That day, the first of September 1991, when Draco had offered his hand and Potter hadn't taken it, it had started something. Something beyond evil glances across the Great Hall. Mean words in classes and tries to distract Quidditch matches was a natural result. But that didn't mean that you had to get obsessed. It didn't mean that your heart would start beating fasting in pure urge to do something to _make him look at me._ Look at him and see something else than a failure that Potter had seen from day one. Harry, can't you see that I am trying to impress you? Can't you see that after all those years at Hogwarts when I was laughing at you, I still didn't come close to hurting you as much as you hurt me in one moment? Well, of course you can't, you thick headed git. But I'll make you pay, you just wait.

It's a Friday. Everybody's starting to drop out of the office and soon there's only Draco, Potter and Dean Thomas left. Dean waves an insecure good bye to both of them before disappearing out the door. Potter doesn't look up from his desk.

Draco stares at him for a while, noting that Potter's eyes aren't moving at all even though they are fixed on a text covered paper.

"Don't you know it's rude to stare?" he says without looking up. Draco smirks and almost replies with a "don't you know it rude to infiltrate someone's life in the most bizarre way?"

"Who needs manner when you're pretty like me?" he says instead, pushing all the thoughts that don't have with being sarcastic and awesome like hell away.

Potter doesn't answer right away but keeps staring at his paper. After a minute or two he stands up and looks around the room.

"What is the coffee pot doing in here?" he asks the air. It takes a moment for Draco to realise that Potter might be talking to him, in a weird, civil way.

"I stole it from the break room," he tries. If Draco has ever felt true love, it would be to his coffee. Potter pours up a cup. "Aren't you afraid I might have poisoned it?"

Potter looks at Draco for the first time, and almost looks surprised. Draco raises an eyebrow.

"Come on, don't tell me you wouldn't suspect it. I would suspect it."

Potter takes a sip.

"It seems just fine."

"Well that means it's working then," Draco drawls. "Don't worry, you won't feel a thing."

Potter gets back to his desks with the cup in his hand, he takes another sip when seated and glares over at Draco and sighs.

"What do you want?"

"Actually, I want you to fetch me a cup of the poisoned coffee. I wouldn't expect any less of you!"

Draco has no idea what he's doing. Potter seems a bit of today and Draco almost never talks to him. Never joking. Never civil. Never anything.

Draco's heart is beating rapidly. It might be because he finds himself next to Potter's chair, with a confused Potter looking up at him. With a confused Draco looking down at him.

Draco punches him in the face. Hard.

Potter's hands automatically goes up to his face and there is blood coming out of his nose and oh my god, what has he done?

Potter furiously stands up, and he seems ready to hit Draco back. And then something changes in his face.

Draco starts to back of, until the nearest wall approaches. He doesn't dare to blink in case something is going to explode. And why isn't Potter doing something? Why aren't on the floor, killing each other? Wasn't that the plan? Was it?

The time seems to have stopped. Everything seems to have stopped. Nothing moves. Their eyes are locked into each other and breathing seems unnatural.

And then Potter looks away, turns away and his voice is distant.

"Go home, it's been long day."

It was quiet for a second or two, in that time blood started pounding in Draco's ears. In that time his heart started pounding audible. In that time he opened his mouth and couldn't believe he had lost again. To what? To nothing, to emptiness.

"No," he said. "No, I won't. I won't let you win this time."

Potter turned around again.

"What?"

"No," he said again. "I've had it. You don't get to ruin my life and save it. You don't get to be the bigger man. You don't get to have it all. You can't get to me. I won't let you so stop getting to me!"

Draco's voice was get louder and louder and he was practically screaming into Potter face. And why was he still not getting it?

There was no response. This was not Potter, this was _not_ Potter. If it was he hadn't simply been staring back. He had done something like punch him or yell at him or kill him and most certainly not kiss him.

Draco found himself backing into the wall again. This time because he had an obviously insane Harry Potter stuck to his mouth who was pushing him into the wall. Potter kept staring into his eyes, kept moving his lips but not away and kept pushing him into the wall. Somewhere around the point where Potter's hands were inside Draco's shirt, Draco was starting to like Potter's new way of communicating.

There were more slams.

The tension afterwards was laughable. It was humiliating but Draco didn't care because at least he hadn't shallow blood vessels. "Where do we go now?" Draco kept thinking to himself. And his heart beat a little bit faster for every time the thought occurred to him. Which was all the time.

He didn't love Potter, that thought was ridiculous. It was a mere disgrace to everything he'd ever known. And if his heart kept this up, he was going to have a heart attack before the age of thirty.

He'd always felt passionate against Potter. Passionate hate. At least that's what he had thought.

But it's not love. Love isn't bitter or demanding. Love is sweet and trusting. Love is too perfect for Draco. Too perfect for them.

But does love really have to be that way? Why can't Draco have it his way, as he always has? As far as he knows, Potter always has too.

Maybe love isn't what it seems like at all. Maybe all love needs is a beating heart, no matter how cold that heart is.

_fin_


End file.
